


Forward the Light Brigade

by knightlyss



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, because I write angst more than anything else apparently, ptsd and depression mentions, set after 3x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlyss/pseuds/knightlyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's tired of war. She feels it drumming in her veins still, feels it pulsing through her heart, criss crossing across her body in tiny pinpricks that remind her that she's still alive. She still has a fight on her hands, and she still has an obligation to her people. </p>
<p>The only problem is, she's going to loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forward the Light Brigade

 

 

 

Bellamy is the first to know. By now she'd consider it weird if she didn't tell him first. Through all this time he's become her other half, her right hand, her protector, and she can't do it without him.

 

Of course he's the first to know.

 

He tries to take it in stride, she can tell. His eyes widen in disbelief, face softening into an almost pitying expression hidden beneath all the cuts and bruises, but there's also a muscle in his jaw that won't stop ticking. He nods once, twice, mouth settling into a thin line, his grip on her arm tightening a little. It's a promise, she thinks. His oath to her that he won't leave. It's a stab between her ribs, a reminder of the time when she left him to fight his demon, and a sharp reminder that while they are the same, they are still different. Protective instinct come first for them, no matter the cost, but there is a vast difference between leading with your head and your heart.

 

She's learned this the hard way.

 

They stay in Polis for a week, determined to get the situation under control. The dead are buried and remembered, villains and heroes alike. They send out scouts to inform the remnants of the twelve clans. They send word for Luna. They try to rebuild the city.

 

She's tired of war. She feels it drumming in her veins still, feels it pulsing through her heart, criss crossing across her body in tiny pinpricks that remind her that she's still alive. She still has a fight on her hands, and she still has an obligation to her people.

 

The only problem is, she's going to loose.

 

 

~*~

 

 

They make the best of it.

 

She doesn't admit that they're giving up, because it doesn't feel like it. The whole reason why the Ark existed in the first place was because of nuclear war, and people still survived. They can continue living. They can make it through yet another obstacle, straighten their backs and hide their fear and remain. It's been done before, and can be done again.

 

Still, she sees her mother's face fall when she tells her. She sees Kane harden himself against the onslaught of people who will no doubt look to him and his status in panic. She sees the grounders steel themselves. She and Bellamy gather the remaining hundred, their friends, and tell them.

 

Not one of them blames her.

 

Supposedly, that's a good thing, but it still stings. She'd expected differently. She'd expected wailing and screaming, harassing and people pulling punches. That, she could take. All of it. What she can't bear is the sympathy and understanding etched in almost each and everyone of the kids' features, Octavia and Jasper being among the few that don't react at all. They all take their leave once the meeting is over, and the air rushes out of her, leaving her dry heaving and leaning over a table, a familiar hand stroking her back.

 

The next days are spent making a peace treaty that sticks. It's no secret that Roan is a much better suited ruler of Azgeda than Ontari could ever have been, and he does his best to be fair in holding up the fort, so to speak. To everyone's surprise, Luna finally accepts the flame, on the condition that her people be left alone. She, and only she, goes to Polis to rule over the clans, while her newly appointed second commands the Flokru in her stead. Roan steps down without a second thought, leaving her the throne, swearing to a peaceful coexistence before he leaves.

 

The ascension ceremony is met with some distain from several leaders, but none of that matters in the end.

 

With the last night bleeder on the throne, they return home. Arkadia seems more like a hollow shell than the remnants of a camp, but they make due. They go back to their old lives with heavy hearts, guilt and sorrow gnawing at their bones. A few grounders and previous residents of Polis travel back with them, determined to turn over a new leaf. Together, they create new homes, repair old ones. New friendships are forged.

 

The delinquents automatically gravitate away from the Ark itself to make room for new arrivals, creating a new section of the camp reserved just for them. Lovers waste no time in sharing space with each other. Monty and Harper move into a cabin with Raven. Bryan and Miller move into another, Murphy and Emori into a third.

 

Clarke dies every day.

 

Every night is another nightmare, another stab in her chest reminding her of what she has done to survive. Every time, it's the same damn choice, the same damn lever, the same damn consequence. Someone must die for her to live, and it eats away at her, until it feels like there is nothing left.

 

She feels hollow more often than not, going about her business, blowing like a leaf from place to place. She's on automatic, just another AI, mechanically mending wounds, voting pros and cons, eating, sleeping, relieving herself, breathing.

 

Bellamy stays by her side. He sits next to her every night at dinner like a watch dog, hovering at the edge of her vision when she least expects it. He's always there, sending a look her way, observing her from up close or afar, making sure she's still standing. He knows she's not okay, he must know, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't force her to relieve trauma, or makes her talk when she doesn't want to. What he actually does is far worse, in her opinion.

 

It makes sense. Despite the camp working on expansion, and despite their losses, they are overpopulated. The good thing is that this time, no one will be floated. The remaining hundred, _her people_ , are determined to stay together no matter what. Last she counted, there were about forty of them left. It's only logical that Bellamy moves his cot into her little home, shoves it into a corner and comes back with his belongings not long after. It's perfectly reasonable to sleep in the same room as him night after night, mumble greetings whenever they cross paths after being apart. It's natural to leave gestures of kindness, like bringing each other snacks while they're on duty, or keep each other company in long meetings that feel more pointless than anything now that there's peace.

 

Octavia and Jasper spend a lot more time together. She can't really say she saw it coming, but she's still somewhat happy for them, even if she knows that whatever is happening between them isn't what other people think. They sort of share living space now, but she's never seen them be anything else but companionable around each other, talking in low voices around the fire and on walks around camp. A lot of the kids are speculating that they're courting, but she knows better. They're in mourning, leaning against each other, fumbling their way towards a middle ground. Indra will always be there for the warrior in Octavia, but she needs more. She needs someone who has suffered at the hands of the one they loved and trusted with their life, someone who had affection and adoration whispered into their ear before their lover died for a supposedly good cause.

 

And isn't that the funny thing?

 

Clarke would do anything for Jasper, yet Maya died by her hand. Bellamy set a chain of events in motion that ultimately led to Lincoln's execution. In the end they're both monsters, and maybe now they'll finally be held responsible.

 

That at least would feel deserved.

 

What doesn't is the continuation of relationships between her and others. Everyone is still working towards a goal while living each day like it's their last, which isn't technically wrong. Looking for the last 4% of livable earth is a tiring process for some, and a beacon of hope for others. Scouts from all over spread out across the lands to access the situation with their own eyes. Raven does what Raven does best: looking for answers among the numbers, trying to calculate survival rates here and there. Her and Wick search for clarity inside every single code and file they can get their hands on, crossing their fingers in the hope that they'll somehow stumble on something as simple as an off button that will reverse the last of the nuclear power plants.

 

Maybe they'll find a lever.

 

Murphy of all people turns to scouting. At first she thinks it's because he does it to be close to Emori, that he won't let her out of his sight now that's she's finally back safe and alive. But then he comes back from one of their longer trips, the layers of two weeks worth of grime and sweat and dust covering him from head to toe, drops of rain hanging in his hair like melted snowflakes, and he's smiling as he slides out of the saddle of his horse, squeezing his eyes shut as he lands on his feet and takes a deep breath she can feel echoing through her own body. She's never seen him happy before.

 

One by one, the kids find a purpose beyond their status as delinquents. Bryan keeps his promise to Miller, adamant about turning his back on the guard to become a farmer instead. Monty somehow manages to balance a multitude of work that includes factory and farming, as if he's refusing to be tied down to just one attribute. Harper sticks to Miller like glue, becoming something of a second to him.

 

Clarke works herself to the bone and hopes that death will come sooner than later.

 

She recognises the symptoms well enough. PTSD possibly, depression without a doubt. It's hard to sleep, eat, get out of bed in the morning, or even respond to Bellamy's greetings as he passes her to and from guard duty. Her mother occassionally weighs in on matters such as sleep and diet, and Clarke has found herself with two sick days in less than one month. It's horrible feeling captive inside her own body, and yet she doesn't care at all.

 

She's done killing.

 

So many people have died by her hand, it's no wonder that they whisper her name in fear still. The mighty Wanheda. She has caused the destruction of villages, burned whole families to the ground, eradicated an entire population. Anyone else would feel drunk with power.

 

And then there's Lexa. Earth is and has always been a matter of living life to the fullest, taking each breath like it's your last, and Lexa had understood that. She had grabbed her choice by the shoulders, sworn fealty to her cause, bled for what she believed in, and died for who she loved. Clarke still doesn't expect her people to understand why she still mourns the commander, because how could they? It was love, sudden and intense and messy and twisted like a knife in the gut, but it was hers, and she lost it.

 

Bellamy sort of understands, or at least he pretends that he does. He doesn't force her to talk about it when she wakes him up with her nightmares, the images of Lexa's face coated in night blood fading from her eyes to make room for the darkness of the cabin. At times he goes to her, sits down on the floor by the edge of her cot and places an assuring hand on her shoulder. Other times, he simply turns to face the wall, leaving her to deal with her grief alone. Mostly, she finds herself waking the next morning with a weight on the back of her hand, finding his head tipped backwards against it as he's fallen asleep leaning up against her cot.

 

She feels like a monster.

 

Not once has she asked him how he's doing in all of this, how he's taking the news of impending doom, or how he's handling the still evident abyss separating him from Octavia. He sometimes looks like he's going through the motions just as much as her, staring off into space every once in a while, but a small smile usually flickers across his face whenever he is caught. He takes the suspension of his guard duty seriously, using his time helping the builders with chopping wood and making foundations for new cabins.

 

Kane had been hoping for him to return to the guard immediately after Polis, but hadn't seemed surprised when Bellamy insisted on a month-long suspension. Clarke had tried for a day or two to make him see reason, see that there was no point in refusing his duty to his people. They had shared a long look before he had turned his back on her, going back to helping a pair of boys with carrying a log to the other side of camp, and she had stared at him, her feet stuck in place as the puzzle pieces slid together in front of her. He wasn't going back because he didn't feel worthy of it, but rather because he was adamant to straddle the thin line between living and dying, to help with creating something instead of reminding himself that all he had done up to now was destroy.

 

It tugs at her heart still, especially when she sees him the night before he returns to guard duty. She's returning to their cabin to find him laying on his cot, reading a book of poems like he's done for the past three weeks. He's taking his time with this one she's noticed, using the pencil behind his ear to write something in the margin, worrying his bottom lip, or licking a fingertip to turn the page.

 

She wants to tell him that she can see him staring more than reading tonight, his eyes seeming to gaze straight ahead at something on the pages in front of him, unfocused and unseeing. Then again, he's probably lost in thought at what will come tomorrow, and what he may be able to do to change that. Knowing him the way she does, it's more than obvious that Octavia and the kids are at the forefront of his mind. And _her_ , however much she doesn't want to be a burden. He worries about them all more than himself, and she sometimes wishes she had the courage to grab the book out of his hands and smack the back of his head with it.

 

He's a frustrating man.

 

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but then there's a new morning bursting through her eyelids, making her squint and hold up her hand to shield herself from the rays of sunlight. Bellamy is already gone for the day, his guard uniform missing from the chair by the door, his book of poems laying on top of the neatly made cot. It's positioned face down on his blanket, and she feels her hand reach out to take it before she has registered it, turning it to look at the pages marked with words. They swim before her, creating maelstroms of emotions that threaten to shipwreck her, and she gently puts it back where she found it after a minute, getting dressed and heading towards medical to start another day.

 

He seems a little lighter when they meet at dinner, the cloud above his head far from gone, but not quite so filled to the brim with thunderstorms and fear any more. Clarke sees this as a good thing of course, but there is a feeling of emptiness washing over her at the thought of her being alone yet again. He's handling it as best he can, working through his emotions and his guilt, while hers is consuming her from the inside out, crushing what little hope she has of returning to normalcy. Soon, he's going to be better, and she's going to be more lonely than she's ever been before.

 

She makes her way to the Dropship then, back where it all began, not the least bit surprised when he finds her there at the edge of darkness later, crumbled on the ground next to the rotting skeletons she's caused. He doesn't say anything, just picks her up and carries her inside, closing the hatch behind him. He sets her down on the floor and undoes the clasp on his pack, forcing her to drink some water and eat an apple. She's long past crying at this point, dehydrated and entranced, staring into the empty air, vaguely registering that it looks like she's staring at his chest, but he's making no comment on it.

 

He makes his way to the upper level of the Dropship with the pack, coming back a few minutes later without it. Her name caresses her face in the softest of voices, and she snaps out of it long enough to see Bellamy holding out a hand from where he's waiting by the ladder.

 

They close the second hatch behind them.

 

There isn't much of a light source in such an enclosed space to begin with, but she feels her fingers wrap around his wrists to stop him from turning on the flashlight anyway. Confused, he puts it down and lets the silence and darkness envelop them. Her hand stays on his wrist, anchoring her down, tethering her to this world like he is the only thing keeping her from dissolving into nothing and disappearing.

 

It takes a while to get the words out, but she manages in the end. Throughout most of it, he's still, listening attentively as she conjures up her deepest and darkest fears. Her loneliness, her guilt, her suffering, her self-made cage. It's easier to confess this to him in the night where it's just the two of them. Sure, their cabin is private, but it isn't _theirs_ so much as it is part of Arkadia. But this place? This is where they ruled as leaders. It's their territory.

 

It's probably therapeutic or something.

 

She feels his hand ghost over hers while she speaks, gently releasing the grip on his wrist to take her hand in between his own instead. He strokes a thumb gently over her skin every once in a while, careful to look at their hands and not her face, as if he knows how much she needs him to hear this, but only hear. If their eyes locked, she's not sure how long she would be able to hold it together. They've been so strong all this time, all these children sent to Earth because they were disposable, and they've owned their lives with spite that has turned into respect from their enemies. But throughout it all, she has always been the one with the weight of it all. She and him.

 

It takes her a while to realise that her words have stopped flowing out of her, and the thumb on the back of her hand has stilled its soothing motion back and forth. She dares to raise her head to look at him, finds him looking back at her with such a gentle look in his eyes that she can feel her chin tremble. She chokes on a sob when he whispers into the space between their bodies, his own tears pooling in his eyes.

 

_You are not Atlas._

 

She knows about him from stories that Octavia had told at night around the campfire, stories which in turn had no doubt been passed on to her from Bellamy while on the Ark. The other Gods like Zeus and Persephone had far more epic tales woven in their names, but Atlas had stayed with her long after they forgot to tell each other fairy tales in the dark and started fearing and fighting for their lives instead. She remembers his punishment for siding with the wrong people, for making the wrong choice in the name of war, and being punished with a terrible burden on his shoulders. Not the World, Octavia told her, like so many tended to believe. His punishment was to stand at the edge of the Earth and hold up Heaven for all eternity, separating deities from humans and preventing them from ever meeting again.

 

She thought of Atlas often while running away from her life. She'd told herself in her early Earth days that she'd never make such a wrong turn as he, never turn her back on her people to save the side of evil. But since then, plenty of things have changed. For one, she's sure now that there are no good guys. She had pulled the lever in Mount Weather and technically committed genocide, left innocent people to suffocate on their fear and ignorance. Finn had died at her mercy-driven hand, and countless of other children have lost their lives under her leadership. Under her protection and responsibility.

 

But where Atlas may hold Heaven from Earth to separate them from each other, she is the opposite, uniting Grounders, Azgeda and Skaikru alike, if only in their quest to kill her. Atlas may be the Commander of Realms, but _she_ is the Wanheda.

 

It isn't until she pulls the lever for a third time that she is reminded of the similarity.

 

By then, it is too late to take it back, forcing her to live with her choice to condemn the World. Forcing her to live out her days like the doomed God with the burden on his shoulders, recognising the mistake a beat too late. She wants her apologies to be the first thing to spill from her lips when she awakens after, but there are more pressing issues at hand, such as getting the Flame out of her head, and the regret gets lodged in her throat, staying there until _he_ finally lets her voice it so much later.

 

With four little words, he reminds her that she is her own person. She may be a human or a God, or a deity in the eyes of the Grounders, but she's still Clarke first and foremost. She's still the girl that fell from the sky, the girl who became a woman with power on the ground, the one that loved with all her heart and lost it several times over. Her lip quivers as she tells him that she doesn't want to be her own person any more. She doesn't want to have all this responsibility weighing her down. His hand is gentle then, as it reaches out hesitantly to cradle her cheek, equally gentle words telling her that he'd carry it all for her if she would only let him.

 

The tears spill over in her eyes as she leans forward, planting her lips gently on his.

 

It's not surprising for either of them, she knows, but he still pulls back a little, eyes searching her face. She reaches out and thumbs away a stray tear that has begun its descent down his cheek, and his eyes squeeze shut briefly before focusing on hers again. There is a question hidden in them, a request for permission to hold her, to confess what he's been afraid to word all this time.

 

Because of course they love each other.

 

There are so many different types of love that it's hard to keep track of them, platonic, familial, romantic. The list goes on, and Clarke has always felt it all. She's been born with love in her heart, and despite the hollow feeling in her chest, she can still feel it in her fingertips that slide up his arm to rest on his shoulder. She feels it in her lips that are still tingling after the loss of contact. Between the two of them it could be born from so many things, but the fact of the matter is that their love is everything at once. He's her second in command, her adviser, her brotherly friend, her comfort, and her heart. Lexa, Finn, Wells, her Dad, all the people she's loved and lost don't become less just because she loves Bellamy too. They all have hold over a special part of her, and there are fresh tears cascading down her cheeks when she realises that she's still able to love despite having lost so much. She's scared and broken beyond repair from losing the battle with her heart so many times, but she can still feel it thump wildly against her chest, feel a heat spreading from her core and out into her limbs.

 

Bellamy crosses the distance between them this time, leaning in and whispering words of love on her lips before claiming them with his own. There's no rush or urgency in his kiss, like they have to make up for lost time, only soft skin on skin as he edges closer, hand coming up and cradling the back of her head. His other arm slips around her, and she feels herself relax in his arms, hands sliding down to rest on his chest. He holds her like she's something fragile, something he has been waiting desperately to take care of his entire life, and she can feel fresh tears in her eyes again.

 

She vaguely registers that there are tears drying on his own face, and they must be a complete mess of salty skin and heavy breaths, but she can't care less as she parts her lips and lets him in, feeling the gentle slide of his tongue caressing hers. His grip on her tightens, and her head tilts a little to the side, her fingers going slowly up to the sides of his face and further into his hair, combing through the unruly curls. He sighs into her mouth, and she feels herself positively bursting with love as both his hands go to her hips, thumbs stroking her sides gently. She presses herself closer to him, recognising a sort of desperation coursing through her body, knowing that she should press down on it and ignore it. They are not ready for that sort of intimacy yet, despite how long they've known each other. He senses the desperation too it seems, drawing away gently and resting his forehead against hers, breath mingling with hers.

 

He smiles when she tells him she loves him.

 

 

~*~

 

 

It isn't until later that she lets herself think about the poem she found in his book.

 

Bellamy lays behind her, breathing gently into her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and she represses a shudder, bringing his hand up under her chin, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He exhales and shifts closer, burying his face in her hair, arm tightening around her. It takes her a minute to realise that he has spoken, his voice slightly muffled and groggy as he asks her why she's awake.

 

She is quiet for a moment, trying not to let the fear consume her again, trying not to let it paralyze her body. Then, voice barely above a whisper, she informs him that Arkadia's new population is six hundred. He gently untangles his arm and uses it to pull at her shoulder, until she's turned and facing him, and she wastes no time in moving closer to him, clutching at his shirt. His chin rests gently on the top of her head as he tightens his grip around her again.

 

He whispers poems about life into her ear until she goes back to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested, the poem is Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Tennyson. I could not get it out of my head after watching the finale, so I decided to finally jot my thoughts down. And apparently, all I write is angst. Someone give these poor kids a break.


End file.
